As I Read This Letter
by Radio-Radio
Summary: Season 9 (AU.) Margaret gets a surprise when she receives letters from Frank Burns. During a lull at the 4077th, BJ, Hawkeye, Klinger and Colonel Potter try to cope with the boredom. Charles is stunned by reaction to a paper submitted to a medical journal. A wounded CO questions his courage, and the war itself. Dr. Sidney Freedman arrives to help.
1. Chapter 1

Margaret Houlihan got 3 letters that day. The first was from her father, describing his adventures as a defense contractor. He travelled a lot, so the letters tended to focus on that part of things. Someone had taken a picture of him by the Leaning Tower Pisa – looked like he was getting some sun, so that was good to see.

The second letter was from her old nursing school friend, Carolyn, who'd gotten a job in Columbus, Ohio and was still working there – promoted to Head Nurse, too! Carolyn's husband, Dan, had gotten a promotion at the insurance firm. Their 3 children were 5, 8 and 12 respectively, and all 3 girls photographed well. Also, Carolyn talked about the continuing problems they were having with their house. They needed new flooring. Sounded like they'd seen 3 different places and couldn't agree on the floor. Dan would have to "give" on this one, Carolyn noted, since he'd gotten a boat the year before.

Margaret liked to see who was writing, so she always checked the return address before opening her mail. She liked knowing what to expect from friends and family. People who wrote frequently would get into "patterns" – some good, some not so good. So, she wanted to be prepared for "bad news" letters she might get, like from her Uncle Mike, a man who started business after business, only to see each fail.

The return address for the 3rd letter was from Frank Burns, in New York? Maybe he was there on a trip, and didn't want his wife to know he'd sent the letter. Frank Burns tried to be a big man in Fort Wayne, with very mixed results. If he was trying to be a "big man" in New York City, he was in way over his head.

She'd never expected to hear from Frank after he'd left the 4077th. He'd gone crazy when she went on her honeymoon, then got promoted and was supposed to be in Ft. Wayne. Margaret had grown a lot in a short time. Marriage and Divorce almost hand in hand. When she thought of Frank Burns, she remembered mostly his immaturity and short temper. Once she'd gotten engaged, Frank tried and tried to rekindle the romance. On the other hand, they were very close for a time – it just felt like another lifetime.

Not ready to read the letter, she decided. Not now.

3 in the afternoon on another quiet day. No wounded had come in for 3 days and only a handful remained in Post Op. Too early for the mess tent.

Margaret felt the need to get outside, even just to walk around camp.

She liked to stop by the nurses' tent. Since she'd come to understand that they wanted to get along with her as much as she did, she'd made friends there.

No need to discuss the letter.

But, being around other women would be good right now. Thus, Margaret walked the short distance to the tent.

She knocked, and was welcomed in.

Able and Cooper were there. Killing time by re-reading magazines.

"Major," Able said, "You want a lousy cup of coffee?"

"This is the best place to go for the worst coffee," Margaret smiled.

"Glad you could make it," said Cooper as she looked up from her magazine.

So was Margaret.


	2. Chapter 2

Colonel Potter, Hawkeye and BJ were in the Swamp. BJ was writing a letter to Peg.

"Darling, it's quiet now. There's a lull in the fighting. We're not prepared for the silence, and every hour stretches by like a day. When no fighting is going on, we have nothing to do; when the fighting returns, we're working 20 straight hours in the OR. There's no in between. What I wouldn't give to take you and Erin on a picnic right now, or take a walk in the park, or even sit at home, cuddling up in front of the radio. Here, each day is the same. Boring and long. I love you both, miss you terribly, and dream of the day when we're back together in Mill Valley. That's what keeps me sane, here; thinking of you two. With VERY Much Love, BJ."

"How many letters is that today, BJ?" Hawkeye asked.

"The fourth, so far," BJ answered.

"And that's before dinner," Hawkeye replied, "Once he'd had our "daily special" at the mess tent, he'll be writing back home about missing his family, and real food."

"Hunnicut," asked Potter, "You find that writing all that is good for you?

"Yes , Colonel," BJ said, "Someday, I'll be going home to a loving wife and daughter who I've missed more than thought I could miss anything. Every letter I write makes me feel closer to them. It helps me stay sane in this insane place."

"I'll get another letter off to Mrs. Potter, later," the Colonel added, "I understand where you are coming from, B.J."

"Colonel," Hawkeye pointed to an overflowing chess board, "It's your move."

Colonel Potter looked at the Chess Board. Besides the typical chess pieces, there were checkers, playing cards, a pair of dice and upside down paper cups. It had started as an ordinary chess game – their second of the day. As good surgeon as Hawkeye was, he was a terrible chess player. The Colonel had taken his time in that game, but it was almost too easy to beat Pierce. Hawkeye began adding new rules and new game pieces as the second game when on. Hard to tell if anyone was winning.

"Just roll the dice, pick a card, and then move one of your four rooks," Hawkeye grinned.

"Remind me," Potter grinned, "How did I get four rooks?"

"Colonel, you took my rooks when you drew a pair of Kings. Hard to beat a hand like that," Hawkeye replied.

"What are you playing, Hawk? That chessboard looks more like an overcrowded table," BJ smiled.

"Chess," Hawkeye answered.

"Damndest chess game I've ever played," Potter began, "and I haven't had anything to drink."

"I'm sure, Colonel," Hawkeye looked at the board, "at some point, all this should make some sense."

Colonel Potter rolled the pair of dice and came up with double fours. Then, he picked two cards: 7 of clubs and 4 of hearts.

"Colonel," now you can move a rook up to 8 spaces, or pick two other pieces – you can move one 4 spaces, but only backwards or sideways. And, you can move the other 7 spaces – only if there are no queens or bishops on the 2nd, 4th or 7th spaces," Hawkeye explained.

"I think I'll put a paper cup over my King, instead, "Colonel Potter replied and did so.

"Good move, Colonel. Never saw that coming," Hawkeye remarked.

BJ looked at the board, "What does it mean if the Colonel puts a paper cup over his King?"

Hawkeye and Potter looked at each other.

"We haven't figured that out, yet, Beej," Hawkeye added, "That's why the Colonel's move was so unexpected."

"I think it means it's time for a drink," Potter replied.

"Colonel, you must have played this game, before," Hawkeye said as he walked over to the still.


	3. Chapter 3

Charles had returned to an empty Swamp after dinner. The "cretins" were gone, and he appreciated the quiet. He found two envelopes on his bed. Mail! Klinger took his time in getting it there. Typical. The first letter was from his father. His parents took turns writing to him. That was good – his mother would discuss her social life and the family; his father would discuss business and politics.

His father had stated that he was alone, in his study, as he wrote the letter. Charles smiled. He could almost smell that wonderful pipe tobacco his father used. The fireplace wouldn't be going in July, but only a few months and that would change. Business was on the uptick, his father noted. He'd met with several other industry leaders, recently, and felt strongly that a deal to combine efforts would result in cost savings, more profits, and a chance for him to show "the others" the RIGHT way to run a business in wartime. They'd donated $10,000 to the hospital, again. When Charles had been young, he'd been attacked by a swarm of bees. And found out he was allergic. Boston General's finest doctors had made the diagnosis, nursed Charles back to health, and suggested that he might not want to take a broom to a beehive again. Since then, his family made regular donations to the hospital, among other charities. His father added that Harvard's Rare Books Collection had some impressive new editions, including a Gutenberg Bible. Mr. Winchester suggested that it would be much better for the war to end soon, so Charles could return to appreciate such things. Charles shared a love of Rare Books with his father.

"Thank you, Father," Charles said to himself, and made a note to write back that night. He wanted to find out more about the newest collection of Rare Books at Harvard.

The second envelope was from the Medical Journal of New England. Charles had submitted an excellent, he knew, piece, based on new procedures of dealing with gunshot wounds to the abdomen. What was called "meatball surgery" made use of some creative methods that were not likely used back in the States. Thus, Charles had written an article, certain it would be his second one published by the Medical Journal. He'd written another paper, when back in Boston, that had detailed some new procedures in working with young Polio victims. The Journal had printed that, and he'd been complimented frequently on his piece.

Charles opened the envelope and read the letter.

"No," he said in horror, "This cannot be."

"How could they have reached such a conclusion?" he wondered.

His first thought was to throw the letter into the trash, or tear it up into very small pieces.

Then, he realized that he needed the letter so he could fashion a response.

If they were going to make this type of accusation, Charles Emerson Winchester would not allow it to go unchallenged.

What buffoon had written this letter? Two signatures, both from MDs.

Winchester was furious. He also knew he had to regain his senses to respond. No ranting or ravings, at least yet.

He decided that a couple of drinks and some time at the Officer's Club might be the necessary tonic.

So, he carefully folded up the letter and put it in his shirt pocket. No one should see the damned thing.

And left the Swamp for the Officer's Club.


	4. Chapter 4

Margaret returned to her tent after dinner. She'd spent a good two hours with her nurses. Listening. Talking about life back home. Men. Nurse Collins' fiancée had written a very sweet letter, which she shared with the others. Clearly, Josh Landers was deeply in love with Betsy Collins – and she with him.

She'd almost forgotten about Frank's letter. When she got back to her tent, though, it was right where she left it. Opened. Unread. Margaret Houlihan had dealt with all kinds of realities since she'd come to the 4077th: death, loss, love, fear, weariness, anger and even a rare moment of joy. She could deal with more than she ever could have imagined.

Margaret sat down and started to read the letter. It was Frank's handwriting, but neater than usual, like he'd taken time instead of just dashing something off – like he had with his wife.

"Dear Margaret,

I hope this letter finds you well – that your marriage is happy.

And that the war ends soon, so you can start that family you've wanted.

You may have noticed that this letter was sent from New York City. I was on the trip there, recently.

When I got back to Fort Wayne, I thought everything would be swell – promotion and a good job.

When I chased after you, I drank like a fish. First time, too. Not the last. Being at home seemed harder, and I tried to take care of that by drinking more and more. My wife left me when I told her to leave me alone - I was fine.

Then, the Army caught up with me. Tried to help, but I couldn't – so I was given a general discharge. My medical license was suspended, too.

Without me knowing it, my mother had reached out to an old family friend, Reverend Michaels in Philadelphia. She told him everything about what I'd done. Reverend Michaels suggested she send me to him. My mother bought me a bus ticket, kissed me, and told me to go. "You need help, Frank," she said. I hadn't been sleeping much, and wasn't drinking like I had – but that was just because I didn't have the money. I almost held up a liquor store, but I passed out in front of it, instead.

The first time I'd seen Reverend Michaels in 20 years was when we met at the downtown bus station. I felt terrible, and looked it. The Reverend help me get my bag and took me to his church. Then, he sat me down – told me I could stay in a spare room, but I'd have to help around the church, and was required to attend the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings held there during the week.

Frank Burns doesn't talk to other people about his problems, I told the Reverend. He replied with, "You already are, Frank."

Over the next months I did manual labor at the church, more than I had ever done before. Margaret, I attended those meetings and found out how much I had in common with others there. Drunks? Yes, I was one. Still am.

In three months, I'd finally sobered up and felt comfortable working for the church. I'm an alcoholic and always will be. But, I think I've found more of who I really am, instead of who I was trying to be. I'm poor, attend meetings every day – but I've never been calmer or more relaxed.

Revered Michaels helped me get an orderly's job at a hospital. I've been working there for 2 months and have actually made some friends, there. They don't know I was a doctor – and that makes it a little easier.

We took a church trip to see the Empire State Building and the Statue of Liberty. I wrote this letter on the bus ride and mailed it from New York.

One of the 12 steps in AA is to ask for forgiveness for those we've caused problems.

I've spoken to some of my family; some forgive, some don't. That's something I have to work on.

Margaret, I lied to you, took advantage of you, and gave you a very false sense of security. You loved me, but I didn't deserve that. You were my comfort, my support, but I never loved you. Truth is, I'm not sure I loved anyone, before.

I'm very sorry for all of that. In the past months, I've found much I needed to be sorry for. Much to apologize for.

I'll put my address below. If you have it in your heart to forgive me, please let me know. If you don't, then that's my fault, and I hope you'll let me write you again.

Reverend Michaels told me that each of us is a "work in progress."

Which gives me hope.

Sincerely,

Frank Burns"


	5. Chapter 5

Margaret re-read the letter. It sounded nothing like the Frank Burns she'd known at the 4077th.

The Frank Burns she had known had told bits and pieces of his past, but always held back. He seemed to be holding nothing back, here. This man she once thought she loved who'd never let anyone, including her, get that close.

"Frank, who are you?" she said to herself.

This letter came from a man who seemed to have gotten his life on a very new track. A sane man. A relaxed man. Perhaps even a happy man. He liked being an orderly at a hospital?

"He's not trying to win me back, is he?" she thought. Yet, the rawness and truth she'd read in the letter didn't look like any part of such a plan. "Frank Burns, master manipulator," Margaret laughed at the thought.

She'd outgrown Frank even before she met Donald, Margaret realized.

Since her divorce, she'd altered what she wanted in a man, a companion. A sense of humor, not quite as crazy as Pierce, would always make her feel better. Someone who had Colonel Potter's touch in dealing with people. Energetic, like Klinger. Bright, maybe a little less so than Charles thought of himself. BJ's even nature and kindness. Father Mulcahy's patience. Radar's ability to make whoever spoke with him feel like the most important person there was.

And, perhaps, the willingness to be open to change, like Frank Burns.

Margaret got out stationery and her favorite pen.

Frank Burns deserved a response for that kind of letter.

Forgiveness?

She didn't know. Frank had put her through a lot. As much as she might want to forgive, she wasn't certain she was ready.

What would she write to him?

Was there something she should write to him?

"Dear Frank,

Thank you for your letter." That was as far as she could get.

She felt like she'd opened a door…but wasn't sure what was behind it. Frank hadn't rushed through what he had written – she was sure of that. When Frank had written to his wife, Margaret knew he never gave the matter much thought or effort. Just enough to make certain his wife knew he was thinking about her and missed her. Mainly to keep his financial options open – the house was in her name.

Margaret Houlihan was used to speaking her mind.

In a letter, though….

She knew she wasn't ready to write back just then.

Margaret had treasured a book of poetry by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. That book went where she did.

She grabbed it from her nightstand and paged through.

Somewhere in there, she'd find an answer. An idea. Something that could help.

And she wasn't going anywhere until she could find it.


	6. Chapter 6

"That's your third drink, Major," Klinger said to Winchester, "I'm not keeping count, but you do seem to be drinking pretty fast."

"Corporal, I'll let you know when I need medical advice, seeing as I'm a doctor and you...are not," Winchester replied.

"Fine by me," Klinger replied, "You're my only customer at the bar right now. I'd be happy to talk about something else. You follow the American League or the National?"

"Klinger," Winchester spoke clearly, "I have no interest in baseball. It's not the kind of sport I pay attention to."

Klinger was wiping down the bar. A handful of people sat at tables, and Winchester by himself at the bar. Quiet night so far.

"Major," Klinger noted, "Bartender's intuition. What's going on?"

"Corporal, you would not understand," Winchester took another swallow.

"Maybe not, Major Winchester," Klinger grinned, "But it never hurts to get things off your chest."

"Fine," Winchester looked frustrated, "Have you ever been accused of stealing?"

Klinger looked around quickly, "What was stolen, Major? Can't say I know about it, but I can't say I don't."

"You imbecile," Winchester lectured, "I'm not talking about taking someone's radio or boots. Have you ever been accused of copying your work from someone else?"

"Major Winchester," Klinger smiled, "How do you think I got through high school English?"

"I thought, perhaps, that the teachers took pity on you," Winchester answered, "Max. Let me be as serious as I can be in a place like this. As a doctor, from time to time, I write articles based on medical procedures. Then, I send them in to Medical Journals for publication."

"That pay much?" Klinger asked.

"No. It's not about the money," Winchester stated, "It's about having your ideas shared with your colleagues – fellow medical professionals – so we can learn from each other. I've had a number of articles published, in fact."

"Anything I would have read in the Sporting News?" Klinger inquired.

"Max, no," Winchester continued, "Just medical journals. I received a letter from the New England Journal of Medicine, today. About a month or so ago, I submitted an article to them. I'd written about some new discoveries we had made here regarding multiple fractures."

"Ok," Klinger nodded.

"Today," Winchester was getting angry, "I get a letter from them accusing me of plagiarism. The very idea burns me to the core."

"Plagiarism?" Klinger asked, "Is that something to do with punctuation? I was never good at that."

"If only," Winchester continued, "They have accused me of writing an article STEALING from an article submitted by another doctor. According to them, my work is almost an exact copy of an existing article from a year ago- by a doctor in Vermont. I have not seen that work. All my writing is based on my research and my experience."

Winchester motioned for another drink and Klinger quickly complied.

"A Winchester, stealing so much as an idea from someone else, is patently ridiculous! The nerve. The incompetence!," Winchester slammed his hand on the bar.

"Doc," Klinger began, "If I have this right..."

"Please stop there, Corporal," Winchester interrupted, "I have been falsely accused! I'm so angry, I'd like to call the editor of the Journal and give him a piece of my mind...since he clearly has none of his own."

"Major, if you want to make a call, I'd be happy to set that up for you tomorrow," Klinger responded.

Winchester swallowed his drink and motioned Klinger for another one.

"Klinger, no," Winchester answered, "I'd get so angry the fools would hang up the call. Best I think about writing them. Ah, what I could write to them."

"You want a pencil and a piece of paper to get started?" Klinger had pulled out each from behind the bar, "or maybe Captains Pierce and Hunnicut could help you."

"Those cretins," Winchester effused, "they can barely form coherent words, let alone sentences. Klinger, I need you to keep this between the two of us. I don't want this getting around."

"No problem, sir," Klinger smiled at Winchester, "One thing I can keep is a secret. Now, if you tip extra, I can do a real good job of it."

Winchester pulled out some bills, "What do I owe you for the drinks?"

He tipped Klinger an extra dollar. Klinger's grin and nod made it very clear he'd gotten the message.

Now, to bed and to think about how to respond. The drinking had calmed him down some, but Winchester knew he'd have plenty of anger available when he needed it. And that was likely sometime tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

At breakfast, Colonel Potter, Hawkeye, BJ and Margaret were sharing a table.

"Colonel," laughed Hawkeye, I'm never challenging an ex calvaryman at horseshoes, again."

"Pierce," Potter smiled, "I told you I was as good as ever."

"I think you are underselling your skills, Colonel," Hawkeye grinned, "If it was an Olympic Sport you'd have a gold medal."

"Instead, I'm owed one bottle of 10 year old scotch," Colonel Potter answered, "That will do just fine."

"Hawk?" inquired BJ, "Where are you going to get a bottle of 10 year old scotch?"

"I've got Klinger working on it. Our company clerk is a man of many talents. He'll find it," Hawkeye stated.

"Also gives the man something to do. Things are so slow right now, we barely have anything to write in daily reports," Potter stated.

"That's a good thing," Margaret replied.

"Major, it is a very good thing. I just wish the army had provided some more resources for "down time," Potter answered.

"Margaret, that's the first thing you said this morning," inquired BJ, "are you ok?"

Margaret had been very quiet that morning. She had several ideas about how to write back to Frank Burns, and wasn't comfortable with any of them. The Major was rarely without an opinion, but she just wasn't certain. Everyone at the table had seen the ugly side of Frank Burns; they might not even believe he'd write something so confessional, so honest. She admitted to herself that she hadn't thought so, either. There was one person at the table she felt she could trust in any situation: Colonel Potter. Pierce and Hunnicut had gotten along well with her in the last few months, and she could count them as friends. Those two might not take the letter seriously.

"Colonel Potter," she said to herself. She'd talk to him.

"Uh, I'm ok, BJ," Margaret replied, "Just thinking."

"Major," Colonel Potter inserted, "Anything we can help you with?"

The door was open. She had to speak to this man.

"Colonel," Margaret began, "May I speak to you in private after breakfast?"

Potter nodded a "'yes" and said, "Of course, Major."

Hawkeye and BJ got up at the same time. "We're going to play 18 holes," Hawkeye said.

BJ grinned, "We have one possible golf hole. Just play it 18 times and we'll get a full round in."

"To the clubhouse," Hawkeye yelled, and then exited the mess tent. BJ followed him.

Colonel Potter turned to Margaret, "Major, I don't know about you, but I've had enough of this breakfast for one morning."

Margaret explained that she just had to get something from her tent, and then would meet Colonel Potter in his office.

Potter told Klinger that when Major Houlihan came by, they were not to be disturbed. Klinger nodded as he spoke to someone on the radio about trading for 10 year old scotch.

Margaret returned with the letter.

"Colonel, please read this. Let me know what you think," the Major said.

Colonel Potter put his spectacles on and began reading. "Hmm" was all he said as he worked his way down the page. When he finished, he gently pointed to a chair across his desk and invited Margaret to sit down.

"Sir," Margaret spoke softly, "What do you think?"

"Well, it's not anything I would have expected coming from Frank Burns," Potter responded.

"Me neither," Margaret answered, "And I don't know what to write back, or even if I should."

Colonel Potter handed Margaret the letter.

"Major," he said, "How should we handle this?"


	8. Chapter 8

Margaret looked at Colonel Potter, "I think I want to write back."

Potter nodded, "Having trouble knowing what to say..."

"I've tried several times," Margaret began, "but it just isn't saying what I want to say, or how I want to say it."

"Major, what do you want to say?" Potter asked.

"Frank Burns...that man drove me crazy..." Margaret noted.

"Well, he drove all of us a bit crazy – you more than anyone else, most likely," The Colonel's calm voice filled the room, "he did write you a very apologetic letter. Maybe the man has turned his life around."

"I think..." Margaret began.

"Margaret," Potter interrupted, "Follow your gut instinct. Hard to be wrong that way. I think you are trying too hard to find the right words. Major, there are no "right words" for a letter like this. You've got to tell Frank Burns exactly what you want to tell him."

"Colonel Potter," Margaret noted, "I do have certain strong feelings about this."

"Good. That's what you need to write. Don't polish it up. If Frank Burns was standing here, what would you say to him?" Potter asked.

"What the hell are you doing back at the 4077th?" Margaret laughed, lightly.

"Margaret, you are a kind, smart and very capable woman who can be as direct as sunlight. Use it, damn it!" Potter exclaimed.

Margaret stood silent. Talking to the Colonel had been a very good move. It was time to write what she really wanted to. Straight, Direct. With some kindness. She thanked the Colonel for his time, and told him she was going back to write the letter, now. And she was off to her tent.

She put Frank's letter next to her on the bed, so she could read while she wrote.

"Dear Frank

It was very thoughtful of you to write me.

You seem to be doing well, and I'm glad.

There are a lot of challenges in coming home from war; I'm very happy to see how you are working to get past them.

For the first time in I don't know how long, I can see you being happy. Content. I smile when I think of that.

The 4077th keeps moving along; we have a Dr. Winchester who replaced you. He's very good, but he knows it – and is quite willing to share that fact. Radar went home. Klinger is now our company clerk; instead of trying to get out of the army, the Corporal is now doing a great job. Particularly for Colonel Potter – perhaps the most kind and decent man I've met.

He told me to "write from the gut."

You hurt me, Frank. At one time, we were very close – or at least I thought we were. That's hard to get over.

I appreciate your honesty.

I hope you appreciate mine.

As much as I'd like to forgive you, I can't do that right now.

Memories are too fresh.

Some pain lasts a bit longer.

However, I do want to continue writing. It's a start.

Tell me more about your new life.

Sincerely,

Margaret"


	9. Chapter 9

Margaret reread her letter to Frank.

She felt relieved.

And wanted to get the letter in the mail as soon as possible. She put the letter in an envelope and addressed it, and started walking towards Klinger's work area to drop the letter off.

"Major," Charles startled her. She was so focused on what she was doing she hadn't noticed him.

"Major Winchester," she began, "I'm sorry. Just have to get this letter out in the mail."

Charles began walking with her.

"The mail," Charles began, "Connecting us to the outside world, whether we want it or not."

"Charles," Margaret replied, "I love getting mail. Hearing from friends and family reminds me there's a better world outside of this place."

"So," Charles asked, "Are you mailing a letter to a friend or family member?"

Margaret stopped by the door, "Maybe a friend. Not family." Then, she walked into Klinger's area and dropped the mail in the outgoing bag. Charles was waiting for her, outside.

"Curious," Charles began, "Maybe a friend is an odd choice of words."

"Charles, if you knew the story, you'd understand," Margaret replied as they began walking towards her tent.

"Care to share?" Charles inquired.

Margaret was silent. Charles was someone she could talk to, though not like Colonel Potter. She'd had enough of the "letter bit" for one day, "Perhaps, some other time."

"Very well," Charles huffed and walked away from Margaret's tent.

He headed back to the Swamp. BJ and Hawkeye had a deck of cards on BJ's bed, all cards face up.

"Your turn," Hawkeye was saying to BJ.

"Let me think. I don't even remember the rules," BJ replied.

"Rules? I thought we'd skipped that part," Hawkeye grinned.

"Makes sense, Pierce. Even when you are trying to be creative, you lack imagination," Charles commented as he looked at the cards.

"Charles," Hawkeye responded, "We have a full deck of cards face up. What would you suggest?"

"Putting them face down, instead," Charles smiled

Hawkeye and BJ eyed each other.

"Didn't we do that last game?" BJ asked.

"Yeah. And it took all the fun out of it. Having to guess," Hawkeye said.

"So, if we're not guessing, what ARE we doing with the cards face up?" BJ asked.

"Ever examine a deck of cards, BJ? The royalty and the riff-raff part of the same family. Sounds pretty democratic to me," Hawkeye laughed.

"Gentlemen," Charles began, "If you flip the cards over and shuffle them a few times, you could get a poker game going."

Hawkeye and BJ stared at Charles. He almost NEVER played poker with them, calling it, "A common man's game."

"Charles, you'd play poker with us?" BJ asked.

"Yes, Hunnicut," Charles followed, "I could use the distraction."

"Beej," Hawkeye enthused, "See if you rustle up any snacks. I'll check with Colonel Potter, Klinger, Father Mulcahy and Margaret. We could have quite a game going!"

"We have enough seating for 7, Hawk?" BJ inquired.

"Good question," Hawkeye replied, "We'll make this a BYOC, Bring your own chair, game!"


	10. Chapter 10

The poker game had started after dinner. Father Mulcahy declined, having already committed to reading stories at the orphanage. BJ, Hawkeye, Margaret, Colonel Potter, Klinger and Charles were intently looking at the cards Klinger had dealt.

"Klinger," asked Hawkeye, "Did you deal out any good cards? I don't have them."

"Captain," Klinger replied, "Then someone else must have them."

"I'm down almost fifteen dollars right now. Every time you deal a hand I feel like you're reaching for my wallet," Hawkeye replied.

Colonel Potter took charge, "Let's stop complaining, shall we, and play poker."

"Yes, Colonel," Hawkeye replied, signaling Klinger that he wanted 3 new cards.

Hawkeye wasn't the only one behind. Klinger had lost about ten dollars. Everyone else was pretty much where they started, except Winchester. His pile of cash had grown quite a bit.

"I'll keep these cards," Winchester waved off Klinger.

"Trade you!" Hawkeye said.

"No thank you, Pierce," Winchester responded, "I am perfectly content to let you lose on your own."

Klinger dealt the cards. He took one look at what he had, and folded right away, "Hard to win with one of a kind."

Over the next two hours, Charles increased his lead. Hawkeye was ready to drop out, saying he didn't want to help increase the Winchester fortune any more. Colonel Potter suggested they take a break, instead.

Hawkeye, BJ and Margaret went to the mess tent to get a cup of coffee.

"Winchester is winning enough to start his own country," Hawkeye stated.

"Or, open his own bank," BJ replied.

"At this rate, he could probably do both!" Hawkeye exclaimed.

"He suggested the game?" Margaret still couldn't believe it.

"Margaret, we were as surprised as you. Winchester usually goes out of his way to be out of the way if we get a poker game going," Hawkeye stated.

"I know," Margaret answered, "He seems different, tonight. Very quiet."

BJ added, "Charles will dominate any conversation he can. He seems to be more focused on the game, itself."

"Maybe it's something else," Margaret replied.

Klinger stopped by the table and caught just the end of the conversation. He'd promised Major Winchester not to tell anyone. The Major was awfully quiet at the poker game. And. these were people who might be able to help. Medical staff. A company clerk didn't write anything that wasn't required on an army form: plagiarism wasn't a concern. Completing the forms so they wouldn't be sent back was.

So, Klinger explained what Major Winchester had told him, earlier.

"Remember," he finished, "You didn't hear it from me." Then, he left the mess tent and headed towards the Swamp.

"That doesn't sound like Winchester," BJ remarked.

"No, it doesn't," Hawkeye explained, "Charles would never 'copy' anything. Otherwise, he couldn't brag about it."

"Perhaps we should find out more about this doctor in Vermont. About this article," BJ suggested.

"Excellent idea, Mr. Holmes," Hawkeye grinned, "Something seems amiss."

"Poor Charles," Margaret concurred, "I'm sure this really hurts him."

"It certainly wounds his rather extensive pride, "Hawkeye answered.

"Seems kind of strange that another doctor would have written a very similar article so recently, doesn't it?" BJ asked.

"I'd like to know more about that," Margaret exclaimed.

"Let's make a couple of phone calls to the states, tomorrow. We'll start with the magazine, to get the other doctor's information. Then, we'll call him," Hawkeye suggested.

"That's a great idea," Margaret nodded.

They agreed to ask Klinger to set those calls up, and then headed back to the poker game.


	11. Chapter 11

Klinger was able to reach the Medical Journal. Hawkeye, who'd gotten on the phone, found out the name and contact information for the doctor. He'd told the secretary at the Medical Journal that he wanted to call the doctor and ask him some additional questions – and that the 4077th MASH had found the article very helpful.

Now, it was time to call the Vermont doctor. Klinger put in a call to Burlington – the doctor was affiliated with the University.

"Dr. Mark Stover?" Hawkeye asked.

"Yes. How can I help you?" came the reply.

"Doctor, I'm an MD at a MASH in Korea. We wanted to ask you about an article you'd written for the New England Journal of Medicine," Hawkeye began, "It was about a procedure done at a MASH, here in Korea."

Doctor Stover answered, "New England Journal of Medicine?"

"That's right," Hawkeye replied.

"I'm the Department Chair for Electrical Engineering here at the University of Vermont," Dr. Stover explained.

"Why would your name be listed as the author of a medical article?" Hawkeye was perplexed.

"Doctor," began Stover, "I can only imagine it's either a mistake – or someone is playing a joke. Actually, the joke angle makes a bit more sense. Is Frank Stribbler still an editor, there?"

Hawkeye thumbed through a recent edition of the magazine and found the name.

"Frank and I went to high school together. Every now and then, he gets an article from someone who would rather use a pseudonym. Privacy issues. If the author doesn't have one of his own, he uses my name," Dr. Stover replied, "Normally, he sends me a post card to let me know."

"Doctor Stover," Hawkeye started, "That goes over at a publication like the New England Journal of Medicine?"

"It's a rarity. The articles don't get altered just because my name's on it. If it were up to me, I'd include some capacitors and vacuum tubes," Stover laughed, "You'd need to call Frank to find out who really wrote the article. I'd imagine that's not easy to do from where you are."

"Well, we don't have a line at a phone booth, here," Hawkeye replied.

"Doctor, thanks for your work in Korea. Good luck with Frank. He'll help you," Dr. Stover ended the call.

Klinger then worked to get a call through to the Medical Journal for the second time. Hawkeye was connected with Frank Stribbler, who explained that the author was a Dr. David Bestwick. The doctor normally wrote articles under his own name – so this was different. Did Hawkeye want Dr. Bestwick's address and phone number? Hawkeye grabbed a pencil and wrote it down. The call was getting weaker, so Hawkeye thanked Stribbler just before the call was disconnected.

"Sorry, Hawkeye. Hard to get more than one call to the states," Klinger said.

"Klinger, you've done great. You've got a future with the phone company after the war," Hawkeye replied.

"Only if they let me make free long distance calls," Klinger replied, "I have a lot of family!"

Hawkeye, BJ and Margaret walked to the mess tent.

"What now, Hawk?" BJ asked.

"I think we need to tell Charles. He may know this Bestwick, and why the whole thing happened," Hawkeye noted.

"He'll be furious that we went behind his back," Margaret stated.

"I think he may be more angry with Dr. Bestwick, who is thousands of miles away," Hawkeye responded.

"Besides," BJ pointed out, "Charles always gets mad at Hawk and me. We're used to it."

The three agreed to tell Winchester, and walked to the Swamp. Charles was in the midst of reading a two week old Boston Globe.

"Charles?" Hawkeye began, "Do you know a Dr. David Bestwick?"

Charles looked right at Hawkeye, "Dr. David Bestwick is a classless shell of a doctor who was in my class at Harvard. He was loud, boring and not that bright. Couldn't stand the man."

"He's the one who wrote that article you were accused of stealing from. "Dr. Stover" is just a pen name," Hawkeye answered.

Winchester stood up and walked up to Hawkeye. They were almost face to face.

"The nerve of you going behind my back. Should never have trusted Klinger," Charles angrily began.

"Charles, we just wanted to help," Margaret firmly replied.

"Help? I don't want or need your help, Major," Charles answered.

"Yes you do. You're simply too proud to admit it," Margaret said.

"Charles, Dr. Bestwick is the problem here, not us," BJ added.

Winchester stepped back from Hawkeye and pondered BJ's statement. His friends had gone out of their way to help him, and he hadn't asked. Klinger had let loose the secret. These people had gotten him the answer he needed. He began to relax.

"Bestwick spends a lot of time at that medical journal," Charles began, "He's been trying to get on their editorial board for years. The cretin saw my article, copied it, and submitted it as his own. Then, he "buried" the REAL article. Of course, when they received my work, they'd see it was a copy. Bestwick, damn him, is the plagiarist here. You wouldn't have his phone number, would you?" He asked.

"Better than that. We've got his address, phone number, and the name of the guy who put Dr. Stover's name on the article," Hawkeye was energetic.

"Well, then," Charles began, "Thank you. I believe I'll ask Klinger to put in a call to Dr. Bestwick. Seems like we need to chat – the bastard."

"That's the spirit, Charles," Margaret smiled. 


	12. Chapter 12

Winchester walked out from Klinger's area to the camp bulletin board. He was laughing to himself. Hadn't felt that good in a long time – especially at the 4077th.

Margaret noticed his mood, "Major, you're in a good mood."

"Indeed, Margaret," Winchester replied, "I have freed myself of a troublesome burden."

"You must have talked to Dr. Bestwick," she smiled.

"Well," Charles began, "Not so much of a conversation. I throttled that little man over the phone. Told him if he didn't repair my reputation and admit the truth, I knew a couple of people at Harvard Medical School who would be happy to tell the editors some of Dr. Bestwick's escapades."

"Sounds like you've got him where you want him," Margaret grinned. Charles did, also.

Hawkeye and BJ walked over.

"If this is a smiling contest, I'll enter," Hawkeye said.

"Pierce," said Charles, "I want to thank you, Hunnicut and Margaret. Dr. Bestwick is not likely to try this kind of stunt again. That's if they let him in the door."

"I gather you had a conversation with the man," BJ noted.

"Indeed. Very one sided and very effective, but not the only call I made," Charles replied.

"Well, who else did you call?" Hawkeye demanded.

"I had a very nice chat with the magazine's publisher, a friend of my father. Dr. Bennett believes that Dr. Bestwick should have no further contact. He's told his security man such. Should Dr. Bestwick show up, he will be escorted off the premises. Apparently, the security man is an ex boxer – Joe Haggerty. Mr. Haggerty will make a very strong impression on our Dr. Bestwick."

"Fist Flyin' Joe Haggerty?" asked Hawkeye.

"I do believe that was one of his nicknames," Charles answered.

"Only one of the best middleweights just before World War II. Would have been a champ for sure," Hawkeye smiled.

"I thought that name was familiar. Saw him box in 1939," BJ added.

"Well, we could go to the mess tent…" Margaret began.

"Thus ending a good start to the day," Charles replied.

"I hear the lunch special is the same lunch special that we've had for 3 straight days," BJ smiled.

"Consistent in Rottenness," Hawkeye followed, "Instead, why not go to the OC to celebrate Charles' victory?"

Margaret, BJ and Charles agreed.

"Klinger told me they got a new supply of stale pretzels," Hawkeye spoke as they walked.

"What was wrong with the current supply of stale pretzels? Pretzels are Pretzels," Margaret answered.

"Well," Hawkeye replied, "Once we've had enough to drink, those pretzels will taste pretty good."

"Ah," BJ said, "Nothing like a picnic lunch."


	13. Chapter 13

The next few weeks saw a return to "normal" at the 4077th. Wounded came and went in large numbers. Medical staff worked some 24 hour days. A supply truck that was supposed to be filled with medical equipment and medication instead was filled with barrels of olive oil.

"What in the name of General Pershing are we supposed to do with this?" an angry Colonel Potter asked the driver.

"These aren't your supplies?" replied the driver.

"Maybe if we were an Italian restaurant," Potter replied, "This is a MASH! I know….you only deliver what's on the truck. But we have NO use for this."

The driver stated that he had to deposit the oil and move on. Colonel Potter ordered him to stay right where he was, and got Klinger to connect with General Rice. Once on the phone with the General, Potter explained the situation. General Rice asked to speak with the driver, who reluctantly came in to take the call.

"Yes, sir, Of course sir, Yes, sir, Right away, sir," came the driver's replies to the General.

Then, the driver gave the phone to Colonel Potter.

"Sorry, Sherm," General Rice began, "I'm not letting them unload you with olive oil. I ordered the driver to head back. May take another day or two before you get the right supplies."

Colonel Potter thanked the General and signaled for Klinger to disconnect the call. Then, the Colonel walked outside.

"Get Zale, here. I need to know how we stand," Potter remarked.

Klinger ran off towards supply. Zale was moving two large crates on the floor.

"Need help?" Klinger asked.

"No. I do this for exercise," Zale responded.

Once Klinger told Zale that Colonel Potter needed to see him, Zale stopped what he was doing and went over to the CO's office, with Klinger right behind.

"Sergeant," Colonel Potter started, "How are we fixed for medical supplies?"

Zale took a crumpled sheet of paper out of his pocket.

"Sir," Zale started, "As of this morning, we have 4 days' worth."

Colonel Potter looked at the sheet of paper Zale was holding and asked to see it.

"There's so much scribble here, I can't tell what it says," Potter glared at Zale.

"Don't worry, sir," Zale answered, "It's my own system and it's always been right on target."

"What about the time we ran short on bandages? You only told us that when we came looking for them?" Klinger asked.

"This is a different piece of paper," Zale was definitive.

Potter shook his head.

"Max," he began, "Get a clean sheet of paper and go over inventory with Zale. I don't want any scribbled surprises."

He then turned to Zale, "If you try a stunt like this again, I might have to use Corporal punishment, if you get my drift."

Zale nodded and left with Klinger.

If they did have four days of supplies, Potter thought, that should be good enough until the next supply truck arrives. Provided that the next truck didn't have barrels of vinegar. He realized he would need to meet with his medical staff and let them know what was going on once he did.

"Colonel?" BJs voice broke Potters' concentration, "We need you in post op."

"On my way," responded the Colonel, who got out of his chair and followed BJ.


	14. Chapter 14

Margaret, BJ and Hawkeye stood next to one of the two empty beds in post op.

In a low voice Hawkeye greeted Colonel Potter, "Colonel. We need your help with something," and pointed to a heavily bandaged man several beds over on the other side.

"What's going on?" asked the Colonel.

"That's Major Holcombe," BJ began, "It was his unit that got clobbered. He should be ok, physically, with time…"

"But that's not what concerns us," Margaret added, "He is completely unresponsive. Not unconscious or affected by medicine. Major Holcombe won't eat, won't speak, and just keeps closing his eyes for long periods of time."

"Father Mulcahy came by twice," BJ noted, "Major Holcombe wouldn't even acknowledge him."

"I think we should talk about this where we scrub up," Potter answered. All four went into the room where doctors and nurses scrubbed and put on surgical garb.

"What do we know about him?" asked Colonel Potter.

"He's in his 2nd war. Fought in Europe in WWII. According to a couple of his men, he's a good CO. But, they got ambushed and barely fought their way out," BJ began, "He tried to save one of his men, a Private O'Malley. Holcombe got shot up, instead. O'Malley didn't make it."

"Was he especially close to O'Malley?" Potter inquired.

"O'Malley was new in the unit," Hawkeye replied, "19 years old fresh from Wisconsin. Holcombe apparently asked his men to keep an eye on O'Malley. According to one of his men, O'Malley stumbled during the ambush. That's when Holcombe tried to save him."

"Damn it," Potter stated, "They get younger and younger."

"Colonel, we don't know if Holcombe got some sort of shell shock, or worse," BJ explained.

"No head wounds. No concussion," Hawkeye added.

"Seems a little beyond us," Potter nodded, "I think we need to get Sidney's help."

"Makes sense," BJ added, "We've all tried to help Holcombe."

"I'll have Klinger put in a call to Sidney, today," Potter added, "I hope he can find out what's going on with Holcombe. That Major is 30. Just a kid himself."

Potter left the room and went into his office, sitting at his desk.. He was frustrated. Everyone in this war seemed so damned young – too young. When he'd gotten into WWI, he was 15, but everyone else seemed pretty young – except the officers. Wondered what those officers had thought of the kids they were training back then. Too young? Inexperienced? Nothing prepares you for battle, he thought. Most men just get used to it – but having a wounded or killed buddy hits them hard every time. Some officers really cared about their men; he was one. Holcombe seemed like he could be another. However, that was something a Psychiatrist would have to look for. Sherman Potter hoped that Sidney's visit would be the answer, or at least the start of one.

He pulled the bottle of whiskey from his desk drawer and took a swig.


End file.
